Between Patients
by Weshallc
Summary: A collection of quite short and some very short writing from the tumblr @fic-al blog. A variety of Au and canon and everything inbetween.
1. Nurse

Nurse folded up the faded, once black, cotton cuff. Laying it flat and silently closing the metal case, the fastening had lost its click, a long time ago. She returned the sphygmometer to its shelf and hung the stethoscope on its hook. After rinsing, the recently used thermometers, under the running water, she carefully placed them in the shiny metal kidney dish.

The woman dried her reddened, coarse hands on a brilliant white, fiercely starched towel. Hoping there was enough Nivea left in the tin, she always discreetly carried in her uniform pocket. Nurse reached for the taupe coloured glass bottle of Chlorhexidine, the top was always stiff and she gave it a firm twist. The pink liquid lapped over the glass instruments as she poured. The bottle felt light in her hand; she made a mental note to do a quick stock check before finishing her shift.

As she wiped the obs trolley down with a disinfectant-soaked cloth and wheeled it back into its corner in the clinical room, she smiled to herself. She would find it now, Nurse was pretty certain she knew where it was, she had used it herself this morning, as she did every morning.

Behind the nurses' desk she looked for the instrument in its regular home. Surrounded by pens, pencils, tongue depressors, the spare scope with all manner of attachments, for all manner of orifices. Nursing scissors and paper scissors, a nail file, a small rule and a rubber. There was also that thing, that no-one knew for what purpose it was intended, but no-one had the courage to throw it out, not even the Consultant.

Nurse loved her job, it was more than that; she wasn't a religious woman, but she knew what a vocation was and this was hers. The care-giver had known nothing else for almost 20 years. Her easy going, jovial manner, meant she found it easy to build relationships with her patients. She had met all sorts in her varied career, she remembered most of them. If not names, then faces. If not faces, then names.

Some she was more than happy to forget, mostly those she had met on male surgical, but others she would never want to forget. This patient was one of those she would remember. Nurse didn't know why, there was just something that caught her imagination, there was something different about this one. This particular patient invaded her thoughts more than her other charges ever had. Even when not on duty, even when she had other things to distract her, things that she should have found much more entertaining.

She allowed herself another sly smile as she reached her recently moisturized hand toward it. Nurse knew she daren't risk delaying any longer time was of the essence, it wasn't an emergency, but it was critical, all her experience recognized that. Nurse had been waiting, and they had requested it; finally. Yes, there it was, the letter opener.


	2. You know Even Then

_A wee accidental mash-up between season 2 ep 1 and 3 ep3_

"What's that you're humming?"

Sister Bernadette stopped, her hands deep in the lukewarm water. She instantly stiffened and froze her actions, she cast a glance towards Dr Turner who was waiting for her reply.

"I didn't realize I was?" she confessed, as nonchalantly as she could muster.

"You seemed to hum something familiar, while you were rinsing those cups. I just wondered what it was?"

The nun didn't have any recollection of making a noise while cleaning up after Tuesday's clinic, but perhaps she had been. Why would the doctor say as much, if it wasn't true? Doctor Turner returned to writing up his clinic notes, leaning against the kitchen hatch. The midwife returned to her cleaning. The silence of the empty parish hall palpable, after a busy afternoon of midwives, mothers, mothers-to-be and siblings-in-waiting.

"There you are doing it again."

This time she caught herself as he questioned her. "Oh, I didn't realize I was doing it. Forgive me."

"It's not a religious piece, is it?" he queried, "I must confess I haven't sung a hymn that isn't also a carol for a while." His thin laugh made the interaction even more awkward.

"No, it's not a sacred song. I wasn't aware I was singing it or that I had given the tune much notice. Obviously the nurses have played it so frequently, it has infiltrated my mind."

He turned towards her, the nurses he was definitely curious now. He raised an eyebrow; he would not cajole her toward a confession, but still he wouldn't be able to rest until the mystery was solved.

"The nurses went to a musical theatre show for Nurse Browne's birthday, but unfortunately the tickets Mr Buckle acquired for them were forgeries. Sadly, they didn't get to see the performance." She sounded genuinely sorry for her colleagues.

Doctor Turner also felt a pang of sympathy for the young midwives and especially Nurse Browne. He held her in high regard for such a newly qualified midwife. He imagined she would enjoy a good old sing-song.

He hadn't known it had been Chummy's birthday, but he didn't know when any of his colleagues birthdays fell, who they were courting, their joys or their misfortunes. That had been Marianne's department; cards, gifts, congratulations and condolences, she was good at it. Mention a rodent ulcer and she would balk, You are in our thoughts, kind regards Dr and Mrs Turner and Timothy, she was very good at and adapting it as required.

Sister Bernadette observed the doctor had become lost in his own thoughts and felt a reprieve and returned to the sink, hoping that was an end to this awkward conversation.

If only.

"So they didn't see the show?"

She sighed, best get this over with quickly like an injection, the swifter the better, "No, but Constable Noakes had already purchased a copy of the motion picture soundtrack of the Hollywood version of the musical."

"That was very good of him and well considered." Patrick wondered if he would have shown such insight.

Sister Bernadette explained, "Well, he and Nurse Noakes seem to have an understanding."

He noticed how her eyes shone and her lips pursed as she shared this confidence with him.

"Constable Noakes is a very lucky man."

The response startled her, "Do you think so?" she asked too abruptly.

"Of course, Nurse Browne I should imagine is excellent company." He was watching her closely, and she took care with her reply, "Yes, she is a most entertaining companion."

"So what was this masterpiece of musical theatre they all sadly missed?"

"Oh, I don't know the name, but Nurse Franklin has seen the film, and she recounted the plot in time with the long playing record, for everyone's enjoyment."

Patrick tried to hide a smile on imagining Trixie annoying everyone else with her riveting narrative, as they tried to listen to the songs.

"From what I could glean, it is set during the war on an island in the Pacific Ocean." Patrick knew immediately she was describing South Pacific, but let her continue. "There is this sort of no-nonsense nurse who falls for this man, but it's not appropriate for some reason and she has to decide between her principles and her love for this stranger." She sighed in relief a little too loudly, once she had finished her recounting.

"Why is it inappropriate?" he had to ask.

"Oh, he is older and a widower with children or some other complicated situation, I wasn't really paying attention." She really must see about ordering a different detergent, this one seemed to leave the crockery very slippy, she almost dropped that cup.

"Some Enchanted Evening."

"Sorry?"

"That's what you were humming, it's the big romantic number."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that?"

"Believe it or not, I do get out from time to time, I am GP not a monk." If he could have ripped his tongue out and stamped on it, he would have.

"Well, Dr Turner that must be why I am unfamiliar with the big romantic number as you call it. If you would excuse me."

Patrick didn't know if he was just trying to console himself, but as she departed for Nonnatus House, he was certain the glint in her eye was one of amusement not anger.


	3. Chichester

Very wee Classic AU Turnadette

"I am not too sure these utility shoes were made for this sort of terrain."

The nervousness in her voice wasn't because of the disorderly concoction of shale and rock under her tiny feet in unbecoming shoes, but due to the large hand that had clasped hers to steady her.

"We could go back to the Mother House?"

As he said it, she felt his fingers entwine against hers; how could his skin feel so dry? In contrast, she felt every single cell of her being to be as moist as a baby's first breath. She had felt so many of those in the past upon her cheek.

She protested that her shoes were sturdy, as good as any pair Nurse Franklin might purchase from Clarks. So they resumed their walk.

"The south coast sea air smells so similar to the sea air at Morecambe Bay, I remember as a child." He had halted and seemed to take in the geography, aware for the first time of where they actually were. Like a dreamer suddenly awakened.

"Me too," she responded shocked by the eagerness in her own voice on sharing a memory. "This reminds me so much of Crovie, when I was a child."

Did she mean to tighten her hand in his or did he tighten his on hers?

"I always preferred searching for cockles, than riding on an overburdened donkey and shove a ha'penny at Blackpool." His laugh was genuine, not bitter like a winter wind but light like a sea breeze.

"I liked to bury myself as much as I could in the sand hoping no-one could find me." Her words tumbled out quickly, "I wanted to dig right down and discover Australia like Captain Cook, or somewhere more mysterious like New Zealand. I always wondered where old Zealand was?"

She was so still; he realized this was probably not the first time she had this conversation, maybe with her father, her mother. How old had she been when her mother died? His son had been nine, this was the kind of conversation they had enjoyed with him or was it endured at the time, now cherished.

The hand was now cold in his, behind the glass, he could see the blue eyes, the blue eyes that shamed the blue of the sea, were troubled.

"I could take you back to the Mother House." Blast! why did he keep giving her the option he wanted her to take least. "Or I believe there is a makeshift sea scout hut along this path that serves refreshments, would you take tea with me?"


	4. Sweet Embraceable You

_Inspired by CatalynMJ1015's wonderful Noakes family stories. A glimpse at a scene from Series One Episode Two._

The Marilyn Monroe look alike that had introduced herself as, "Beatrix, but most people call me Trixie," was giving her idol a run for her money singing along to a Gershwin classic.

As she purred over the lyrics straining from the wireless, #_Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you_#. Chummy was in no doubt that her new colleague was much more familiar with bringing, #_the gypsy out # _in men than she was.

Sitting at the dining table in the convent's snug laundry room, Chummy found comfort in the fact the entire nursing contingent now surrounded her. Used to dorms bulging at the seams with girls at both boarding and nursing school, there was something reassuring about only having to try to make friends and fit in with so few.

The nuns might be a different matter; the senior sister had been most welcoming. The addition of another pair of hands had seemed to displace any disappointment that those hands couldn't immediately be put to work. Unfortunately, a suitable uniform could not be found to render the new nurse not only decent but mobile.

Fortunately, those hands held other skills. The irony that her old needlework qualification would prove its worth; while the ink was not yet dry on the rather begrudgingly written but accurate _pass_ of her midwifery qualification, was not lost on Chummy.

The pattern that Chummy was creating seemed to cover the large wooden table that took up most of the floor space in the utility area. The midwife who had been introduced as Cynthia, was sat at the table nursing a lukewarm cup of tea. Chummy had noticed that the girl had positioned herself and her tea things to be of least bother to her new colleague's industry. Camilla didn't consider herself to be a good judge of age and would often freeze when being put in the position of being asked to guess, however good humoured the enquirer. There was an innocence and timidity that placed Cynthia in the newcomer's mind as being the youngest of her three new companions.

Cynthia obviously knew of the lyrics of the popular song as the mimic with the wooden spoon microphone. She also had a sweet voice and was holding the tune. Her gentle sway to the crooner's dulcet tones seemed to come from some place different to Trixie's overstated if not entertaining gyrations. On second glance, maybe Cynthia was older than her wide-eyed appreciation of all that surrounded her belied. An old soul and a young heart, Chummy mused.

Trixie was in full nose-wrinkling teasing flow now. Another advantage of such a small group was the ease of remembering everyone's name following first introductions. Although Chummy had wondered if she was "most people" and therefore expected to lean toward Trixie rather than Beatrix. Ms Franklin, as seemed more appropriate, in the current situation gestured towards her adoring fans and Chummy found herself blushing. She knew Trixie was playing the crowd, but just for a moment she had thought the songstress had singled her out for attention.

She had seen similar actions many times, that sly wink, a smirk, the rise of an eyebrow, shared overtly between friends. They were commonplace at school and during her training; the one that resulted in dressmaking and the one that concerned the results of baby making. She always chanced on intercepting these not-so-subtle gestures of friendship. The brief sign that meant, this is our joke, our secret. She had never dared to send such a signal herself and of course had never been the happy recipient. But, just for a fraction of a second she was sure Trixie had directed her playfulness at her.

Behind her the steam iron hissed its disapproval. Of course Jenny was stood behind her on her third petticoat. It was obviously the girl standing behind her, Trixie was connecting with. Chummy had been told the brunette's arrival had only preceded her own by weeks. Yet, she seemed so at home, such a part of the antique mahogany furniture that Chummy could scarcely believe it. She had also learned that Jenny was also newly qualified; Chummy didn't need to be told that Nurse Lee hadn't just scraped a pass.

The decapitating of the reigning monarch's sister was most unfortunate; Chummy yet again wondered how she had divulged too much of her otherness, when she had been so determined, this time, not to reveal anything that would set her apart. The virgin midwife buried the fears that had been brooding in the back of her mind about the brusk nun who had been the first to open the sacred convent door to her future. The mischievous Trixie and the well meaning Cynthia had fed those fears. Chummy had caught the not always benevolent attention of sisters, teachers, matrons before, they well equipped her to weather yet another storm. She would take strength from the tiny crucifix that hung below her high starched collar. She dared to contemplate, that maybe for the first time she would also find strength from something more tangible. A small group of friends who had somehow already embraced her.


End file.
